Crime at Bedtime

At just before three in the morning on Saturday the 19th of March 2011, a 22-year-old woman named Sian O'Callaghan left a nightclub in the centre of Swindon, Wiltshire, and began the 800-metre walk home to the flat she shared with her boyfriend. She never arrived. Within days, Detective Superintendent Steve Fulcher of Wiltshire Police had identified a suspect. Within a week, he had made a decision that would save one family from years of wondering, deliver another family a second set of remains that had been missing for eight years, and destroy his own career in the process. Fulcher took the suspect, a local taxi driver named Christopher Halliwell, to an Iron Age hill fort north of Swindon. He deliberately broke the Police and Criminal Evidence Act to interrogate him. And there, without a solicitor present, Halliwell led him first to Sian O'Callaghan's shallow grave in an Oxfordshire field, and then, on the drive back to the police station, offered him a second body. This is the story of two young women who died eight years apart, the detective who broke the rules to find them, and the spade in a Swindon shed that eventually put their killer behind bars for the rest of his life.
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On the afternoon of Saturday the 10th of August 1901, two English women stepped off a train at Versailles, near Paris, on holiday together. One was 55-year-old Charlotte Anne Moberly, the first Principal of St Hugh's College, Oxford. The other was 38-year-old Eleanor Jourdain, her incoming Vice Principal. They toured the palace. They found it uninspiring. They opened their guidebook and decided to walk to the smaller chateau at the end of the grounds, the Petit Trianon, which had once been the private retreat of Marie Antoinette. They took a wrong turn at an unmarked lane. And over the following 30 minutes, in the gardens of Versailles, they would claim to have seen palace bodyguards in green-grey coats and three-cornered hats, an old plough beside a farmhouse that had long since been demolished, and a woman sitting on a terrace sketching, in an old-fashioned summer dress and a shady white hat. Moberly would come to believe that the woman was Marie Antoinette herself. Neither of them knew, at the time, that the date they had chosen was the 109th anniversary of the fall of the French monarchy. Sixty years of research followed. A book was published in 1911. It became one of the most famous ghost stories in the English language. And to this day, no one has ever been able to prove or disprove what the two women said they had seen.
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On a warm Friday morning in April 2005, Ray Gricar, the sitting District Attorney of Centre County, Pennsylvania, walked out of his office in Bellefonte, got into his red Mini Cooper, and drove east on Route 192 towards the town of Lewisburg. He was 59 years old. He was eight months from retirement. He had spent 20 years as one of the most respected prosecutors in central Pennsylvania. At 11:30 that morning, he called his partner from a rural stretch of road, told her he would not be home in time to walk the dog, and hung up. He was never seen again. The next day, his car was found in a Lewisburg parking lot with cigarette ashes inside from a man who did not smoke. His work laptop was later pulled from the Susquehanna River with its hard drive removed. His home computer had recent searches for "how to wreck a hard drive." Three national investigations have never resolved what happened. Twenty-one years later, no one knows whether Ray Gricar took his own life, staged his own disappearance, or was murdered by someone connected to the criminals he had prosecuted.
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On the morning of the 7th of June 1992, a 19-year-old woman named Janelle Kirby drove across Springfield, Missouri, to a small house on East Delmar Street, looking for her two best friends. They had graduated from high school the day before. They were supposed to be driving down to a resort in Branson. When Janelle pushed open the unlocked front door, she found the family's terrier agitated, the girls' clothes folded neatly on chairs, beds slept in, purses untouched, cars in the driveway, and the smashed pieces of the porch light scattered across the boards outside. What she did not find was Suzie Streeter, her mother Sherrill Levitt, or her friend Stacy McCall. Three women had vanished from inside that house overnight. The dog. The beds. The car. The purses. The cash. All of it left behind. Thirty-four years later, no one has ever solved one of the strangest unsolved disappearances in the history of the American Midwest.
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On a winter night in 1961, in a stone bunker on a hilltop outside Turin, two young Italian brothers sat in front of a wall of homemade radio equipment and heard something they would spend the rest of their lives trying to explain. The slow, wet sound of a man breathing his last breaths from somewhere above the Earth. Over the following years, Achille and Giovanni Battista Judica-Cordiglia would record eight more transmissions just like it. Morse code SOS signals from spacecraft in trouble. A capsule drifting into deep space. A female voice, calm at first and then terrified, counting down numbers in Russian as her capsule appeared to burn up around her. They were the dying breaths of Soviet cosmonauts on missions that, officially, never happened. Or they were one of the most extraordinary fabrications of the Cold War. Sixty years on, no one has been able to decide which.
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